


When in Rome

by silvercolour



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ancient History, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kissing, M/M, No beta only fic, Scene: Rome 41 AD (Good Omens), swordtember fill, they’re drunk and they both worry about consent but they also both want to be kissed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: Out past curfew, Crowley and Aziraphale are hiding in an alley when a patrol catches them. Of course, the best solution is to pretend that they are... busy. In that alley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74
Collections: Silver's swordtember fills





	When in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> In which I use swordtember as a vague excuse to write good omens historical and historical-adjacent fic. Check out the collection if that sounds like something you’d enjoy reading more of!
> 
> For day 6 of swordtember: “night”  
> ...there are swords. If you squint.... Crowley is just a bit distracted, that’s all...  
> There will be more swords in future fics, when I don’t decide to join an event around midnight.

It is late when they return from lots of oysters and a lot of very good wine, past official curfew already. Night has long since set, and the city gates have closed long ago, and patrols of soldiers roam the streets, on the lookout for any stragglers who have yet to reach their homes.

Stragglers like Crowley and Aziraphale.

They are definitely more drunk than they should be, out here in public, where anyone might see them. Especially anyone not-actually-human. Although Crowley isn’t too keen on getting caught by a human patrol either. Miracles take paperwork, and leave traces, and he doesn’t want that. He just wants to spend more time with this confusing angle, who tempted him to dinner, and succeeded.

Their route has been circuitous, snaking around the city, using every backway alley and hidden passage Crowley can remember. Aziraphale has not been much use proclaiming (rather loudly, almost getting caught by a patrol that was two streets over) that they’d be home much sooner if they stuck to the main roads, and that all these twisty streets were making him dizzy, and couldn’t they rest for a moment, Crowley dear?

This question was asked with an angelic hand gently tugging on a fold of Crowley’s toga, and Crowley couldn’t help but acquiesce.

“Yeah, alright– but only for a moment, Angel. We don’t want anyone seeing us out here,” he relented, unable to guard against the soft, pleading eyes that seemed to stare directly into his soul

As soon as he said it those eyes drooped closed, and Aziraphale let himself fall the short distance to the wall behind him, letting it support him. He simply stood there, leaning, dozing, drunk. Crowley should be worried. They were out in the open, even hidden in a small street as they were. The main thoroughfare was not far away at all, and he could hear a patrol marching somewhere in the distance. Anyone could see them here– or even Someone.

Instead of worrying, he stared at Aziraphale. The angel didn’t seem to mind that he was in the presence of a demon (he had never minded, which in Crowley’s humble opinion should count as a Miracle). He was unguarded, relaxed, and had been all evening. He even seemed comfortable, glad of Crowley’s presence, both at dinner and here in the dark of night.

It boggled him. There were days when Crowley didn’t even like his _own_ presence. (Today was not one of those days. Today was a good day.)

Seeing that the angel wasn’t going to move soon, Crowley joined Aziraphale in leaning against the wall of the alley. Instead of closing his eyes, however, Crowley took off his glasses, using this moment to look at the angel without the tinted glasses obstructing his view.

Aziraphale might as well have been glowing for how bright he looked to Crowley's eyes. His pale hair and white toga helped, of course, but there was more. He looked so… so _pleased_ , something Crowley supposed was because of the (admittedly very satisfying) meal. He couldn’t help but lean closer, attracted like a moth to a flame, and gently bump shoulders with Aziraphale.

“Can’t stay here all night, Angel, someone will find us for sure,” he breathed, quiet in the night air, reluctant to disturb the vision before him.

Aziraphale only hummed in response, and tilted his head up. Trying to get more comfortable against the hard stone wall, possibly? Crowley, wasn’t sure, but it certainly made the vision that was Aziraphale burn much brighter in his eyes.

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing across them, before replacing his glasses. Why did _he_ have to be the responsible one? Why did the Angel have to be so tempting today? It was entirely unfair.

“C’mon, Angel, let’s get you to a bed–“ he cut off his own words, ears pricking up. A patrol, five men, armed and headed in their direction.

A quick glance around told him what he already knew, and why this alley had made such a good hideaway. It was a dead-end. They had nowhere to go. Looking around himself anyway, Crowley tried to think of a solution.

Nothing to hide behind, or under, no convenient carts or trash or _anything_. They had to be standing in the cleanest alley in all of Rome. Nothing there but the angel and himself…

Which could be a solution. But it would be rude. Especially considering how drunk they both were. And how out of it and tired Aziraphale currently was. On the other hand, it might be a chance he’d never have again. Although if he offended Aziraphale by doing that he certainly would ruin any future chances.

Footsteps just around the corner, marching closer, armour clinking. A hand grabbing his toga before he could make up his mind. Crowley felt himself being dragged around, away from the wall and facing Aziraphale. Aziraphale, whose eyes were open again. Aziraphale, who was still bright as the stars at night to Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale, who whispered a barely audible: “I’m so sorry Crowley,” before dragging Crowley flush against himself–

And kissing him full on the lips, arms slung across Crowley’s shoulders, one hand curling into his hair.

If Aziraphale had seemed like the stars before, he was now like the sun, a burning heat searing itself across Crowley everywhere their bodies touched, despite the layers of clothing in between them. Now that it was happening (was this really happening? Could he be sure this wasn’t just a dream?) Crowley couldn’t believe he had planned to do this. This… this sacrilege, this blasphemy, this _heaven,_ feeling Aziraphale’s lips aflame against his own. The hand through his hair felt like fire, like a blessing, and Crowley wanted to push back into that sensation more than anything, if only that did not also mean pushing away from those wonderful lips.

The patrol of soldiers rounded the corner, and Crowley could hear the sound of a sword being drawn. He could hear it happening, but he couldn’t process any of it. His brain had short-circuited, simply giving out from the overload of input that was Aziraphale.

“You there! What is your business? Are you drunk? It’s far past curfew, you should not be about anymore!” One of the soldiers shouted, voice raised, as if the whole neighbourhood needed to be woken for this.

Aziraphale broke their kiss, and Crowley couldn’t help the small whine that escaped him.

“I’m sorry officer, we became a little distracted on our way home,” spoke the angel, in the most innocent, honeyed voice the soldier would probably ever hear in his life.

“We’ll go home right away, and leave you to your duties, good sir. Our apologies for disturbing you on your rounds,” as he said it, Aziraphale pushed off against the wall, and for a moment he was closer to Crowley than he had ever been. Then Aziraphale twisted sideways, and took Crowley’s hand, and dragged them both out of the alley, and away from the patrol.

It took several streets for Aziraphale to slow down, and for Crowley to process what had just happened. When he finally did, they were standing in another alley, this one just behind the inn where Aziraphale’s room was.

“Crowley, I’m–,” “Angel, that was–,“ they started simultaneously, and stopped the same as well.

A moment, a very long moment, they stared at each other, wanting to speak, waiting for the other to go first. Eventually Crowley waved a vague hand for Aziraphale to go first.

“Crowley I’m _so_ sorry, I have taken _far_ too much liberty tonight, and it was awful of me to do. I cannot apologise enough,” Aziraphale said, words rushing out like spilled wine. It was not at all what Crowley had expected. “I will understand if you cannot forgive me for what I’ve done, but I can only hope–” 

It was not what Crowley had expected, and certainly not a vein he was going to let the angel continue worrying about. So, in reply, as a way to show he forgave his angel, Crowley did the only thing he could think of. The only thing he had been thinking of all evening, really.

He pulled Aziraphale against himself, feeling that delicious heat again, and crashed their lips together. Where their previous kiss had been fire, this one felt like an explosion, sudden and intense and far more destructive. At Aziraphale’s shocked gasp and parted lips Crowley took his chance, and slipped his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth, swallowing the sounds he made in between the burning fire of their lips. Aziraphale still tasted like the oysters they had for dinner, and Crowley couldn’t help but think that when next he ate oysters, he’d feel like they tasted of Aziraphale.

After far too short a time Crowley stepped back, only just far enough to separate them. He could feel Aziraphale’s breath puff against his lips still, but the press and the warmth of their bodies together was gone.

“‘S alright, angel. Now we’re even, and all is forgiven.”

**Author's Note:**

> Previously on Swordtember:  
> [Written for the prompt "divine relic"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378470) emotional hurt/comfort, Crowley is surprised by a sacred object on display at the BM, and has a bad reaction, but Aziraphale is there to comfort him.
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think- I love hearing from you guys!


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